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ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


IW  ONK  ^CT. 


rr 

HORACE  NVIGAN,  ESQ, 


BOSTON: 


ALWATS  INTENDED. 


CHARACTERS. 


Olympic  Theatre^ 
London^  1865. 

Mr.  ••••.•  Ml.  Maclean. 

Charles  Constant 

(his  Nephew),  . • . • Mr.  E.  F.  Edgar. 
Mr.  Project  (a  Solicitor),  . Mr.  II.  Wigan. 


Boston  Museum^ 
18C7. 

Mr.  R.  F.  McClannin, 

Mr.  L.  R.  Shewell. 
Mr.  J.  A.  Smith. 


Mary 

(Niece  to  Mr.  Muddle),  • Miss  Harland. 
Mrs.  Markwell  (a  widow).  Miss  Sheridan. 
Jane  (a  Servant),  • • • . Miss  Schavey. 


Miss  Annie  Clarke. 
Mrs.  E.  L.  Davenport 
Miss  Blanche  Vining. 


Scene:  Modern  Villa. 
Costumes:  Modem. 
Time:  Present* 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


K 


$ 

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SCENE.  — 3ibcfem  Villa,  Elegantly  furnished  moryiing^room 
opening  on  lawn,  c.  doors  r.  and  l. 

Enter,  through  c.,  Mrs.  Markwell,  ushered  in  hy  Jane  — during 

the  first  portion  of  the  dialogue,  a piano  is  heard  off  as  of  some 

one  running  the  scale  and  modulating  the  instrument. 

Jane,  Mr.  Muddle  is  not  in,  ma’am ; he’s  fishing,  and  Mr. 
Charles  is  after  the  rabbits. 

3Irs.  31.  What,  on  a day  like  this? 

Jane,  Oh,  yes,  ma’am,  every  day  master  and  master’s  nephew 
are  always  a-sporting,  as  they  call  it. 

3Irs.  3L  And  where’s  your  young  lady?  But,  of  course, 
dressing  for  the  ceremony.  Tell  her  I’m  here,  but  don’t  disturb 
her;  say  I can  wait,  and  take  my  things  to  my  room. 

Jane.  O ma’am ! you  won’t  disturb  Miss  Mary  — she’s 
only  a-practisi ng,  and  she’s  been  at  it  for  hours,  and  them 
scales  is  enough  to  tire  anybody. 

3Irs.  31.  What,  is  that  your  mistress  that  I hear! 

Jane.  Y'es,  mum,  that’s  Miss  Mary,  and  she  keeps  all  on  like 
that  for  hours,  and  says  it’s  an  execution  — I’m  sure  it  worrits 
one  to  death. 

3frs.  31.  Very  good,  say  I am  here,  Mrs.  Markwell. 

Jane.  Yes,  mum. 

[Exit  L.,  loith  travelling-hag,  bonnet,  shawl,  etc. 

3Irs.  M.  This  is  incredible.  The  announcement  of  the  mar- 
riage must  be  a hoax.  This  was  the  day  fixed  for  the  wedding, 
and  there’s  not  the  slightest  appearance  of  stir  or  preparation 
in  the  house.  The  uncle  out  fishing,  the  bridegroom  out 
shooting,  and  the  bride  practising  the  piano;  there  must  be 
some  strange  mistake. 

Enter  Mary,  l. 

Ah,  my  dear  Julia,  what  a 


3Iary  (runs  to,  and  kisses  her), 
long,  long  time  since  we  met ! 
3Irs.  31.  Ah,  it  is  long  indeed. 


Since  my  marriage  in  Paris. 
3 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


I have  only  paid  one  visit  to  dear  old  mud  Babylon.  La,  my 
dear,  people  may  talk  as  they  like  about  continental  residence, 
but  there’s  no  place  like  London  after  all;  so,  as  soon  as  iny 
poor  dear  husband’s  affairs  were  settled  abroad,  I determined 
to  come  back,  and  my  first  visit  is  to  you.  Ah,  how  differently 
we  meet!  You  were  a child  and  I a wife  when  we  parted,  and 
now  1 am  a widow  and  you  on  the  eve  of  marriage. 

Mary,  Eve!  you  may  say  morning ! 

Mrs,  31,  Then  it  is  to-day  ? 

3Iary,  Yes,  of  course,  to-day,  and  how  kind  of  you  to  come, 
for  I don’t  think  there’ll  be  any  one  else.  I’ve  sent  for  my 
uncle ; he’s  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood,  and  I don’t  think 
cousin  Charles  will  be  long. 

Mrs,  31.  Then  the  gentlemen  are  out!  {They  sit.) 

Mary,  Out!  oh,  yes,  they’re  always  out  in  the  morning. 

3Irs,  31,  And  leave  you  ? 

31ary.  Oh,  yes.  I was  busy  practising  my  sonata  in  D minor. 

Mrs.  31.  A bride  in  the  minor  key  on  her  wedding  morning ! 
But,  my  love,  you’re  not  dressed ! 

31ary,  Oh,  there’s  plenty  of  time;  so  I took  the  opportunity 
of  practising  while  I was  alone,  for  Charles  can’t  bear  anything 
in  the  minor,  though  I think  he’s  wrong,  don’t  you? 

31rs.  31.  I think  he  is,  indeed. 

31ary,  Why,  how  you  look  at  me ! Is  there  anything  extraor- 
dinary about  me  ? 

Mrs.  31.  Yes,  very  extraordinary.  You  seem  very  little 
moved  at  the  solemnity  of  this  occasion. 

Mary.  I see  nothing  solemn.  Why  should  I be  moved? 

Mrs,  31.  Why,  my  love,  you  are  incomprehensible.  Is  it  not 
natural  at  such  a moment  to  feel  alarmed,  anxious,  and  ere  it  is 
too  late  to  catechise  one’s  heart ! 

Mary  {astonished).  Too  late!  catechise!  I don’t  understand. 

31rs.  31.  Yes;  to  ask  if  your  girlish  hopes  will  be  realized? 
If  he  whom  you  wed  will  love  you  as  you  would  be  loved ; if 
he  will  understand,  and  understanding  will  appreciate,  you ; 
and  if  you  yourself  love  him  sufficiently  to  find  happiness  at 
his  side. 

31ary,  And  did  you  ask  yourself  all  those  questions  when 
you  married  Mr.  Markwell  ? 

31rs.  M.  All ! yes,  and  many  more.  {Sits.) 

31ary,  Ah ! My  case  is  difierent, 

31rs,  31,  Indeed! 

Mary  {sitting).  I’ve  been  going  to  be  married  such  a very 
long  time,  ever  since  I was  six  years  old,  and  I’m  quite  accus- 
tomed to  the  idea  of  marrying  cousin  Charles.  It  was  the  last 
wish  of  my  dear  mother  and  his  — Our  uncle,  now  our  only 
relative,  has  always  spoken  to  us  about  it,  as  an  afiair  settled 
and  asreed  on  long  ago.  So,  you  see,  my  marriage  is  not  so 
alarming  after  all  — to-day  or  to-morrow,  it’s  the  same  thing 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


— he  teas  my  cousin,  and  he  toill  be  my  husband,  as  they  alwaya 
intended,  and  that’s  all. 

JJrs.  M.  Well,  your  resi2:nation  is,  perhaps,  natural,  for 
your  cousin  Charles  is  very  handsome. 

Miry  {with  mdifference) , Do  you  think  so? 

3Irs.  M.  Yes,  don’t  you? 

Mary,  Perhaps  so.  I am  scarcely  able  to  judge. 

Mrs.  M.  {Aside.)  Poor  child,  she  does  not  understand  her 
position.  {Aloud.)  Ah!  {Sighing.) 

Mary.  What’s  the  matter? 

Mrs.  M.  Nothing. 

Mary.  You  look  as  if  you  pitied  me. 

Mrs.  31.  I ! 

3Iary.  Yes,  and  you  said,  “ Ah!  ” 

Mrs.  31.  Well,  then,  my  love,  I must  tell  you  that  marriage 
is  not  at  all  the  matter-of-course  ajSair  that  you  suppose  it. 

3Iary.  No? 

31rs.  M.  Not  at  all. 

3Iary.  Why,  then,  what  is  it? 

3Irs.  31.  I’ll  tell  you,  my  love  — a momentous  occurrence  — 
the  great  sensation  act  of  life’s  drama,  of  which  the  denoue- 
ment may  be  happiness  or  misery  Ah,  my  dear,  when  once  we 
have  borne  a part  in  the  play  ourselves,  you  can’t  imagine 
what  interest  we  take  in  watching  the  other  performers,  and  I 
must  say,  I am  disappointed. 

3Iary.  Disappointed! 

3Irs.  31.  Yes,  your  uncle  wrote  to  invite  me  here  on  the 
auspicious  day,  as  he  termed  it.  My  heart  beat  at  the  thought. 
I came  down  here  with  my  nerves  strung  up  to  the  proper  pal- 
pitation pitch.  I brought  with  me  a love  of  a dress,  and  a duck 
of  a bonnet.  I came  to  witness  a world  of  sweet  surprise  and 
emotions,  the  blushes  of  the  bride,  the  eagerness  of  the  bride- 
groom,— the  sympathetic  sighs  of  anxious  friends,  the  waving 
handkerchief  from  the  carriage  window,  — to  see  the  launch  of 
Love’s  frail  bark  on  the  dim  ocean  of  futurity,  — in  short,  to 
read  the  one  poetical  page  in  a life’s  history;  and  what  do  I 
find?  Two  commonplace  young  people,  who  have  been  told 
to  get  married  like  good  children,  and  who  do  as  they’re  bid, 
in  a cold-blooded,  methodical  way,  in  the  interval  between  the 
practising  of  a sonata  and  the  cracking  of  a double-barrelled 
gun.  It’s  unexampled, — unheard-of. 

3Iary.  Is  it?  Charles  never  told  me  so;  but  then  he  never 
says  anything  about  it. 

3frs.  31.  Never  says  anything!  What  a poetical  courtship ! 

3Iary.  Courtship,  what’s  that! 

3Irs.  31.  Dan  Cupid’s  ferry-boat,  my  love ; but  ask  Charles 
and  he’ll  explain. 

3Iary.  I don’t  think  he  will ; he’s  so  stupid,  he  never  explaln.« 
anything. 


1* 


6 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Mrs,  31.  But  does  he  never  say  agreeable  things,  pay  you 
little  attentions,  praise  your  looks,  your  hair,  your  dress,  whis- 
per soft  nothings,  — in  short,  never  make  love? 

3Iary,  If  that’s  the  proper  way  to  make  love,  he  certainly 
never  does. 

3Irs.  M.  Then,  my  dear,  he’s  the  oddest  lover  in  the  world. 

Mary.  Indeed!  then  you  think  he  doesn’t  make  love  like 
other  people  ? 

3Irs.  M.  I’m  sure  of  it. 

3Iary.  Dear  me,  you’ve  made  me  quite  uncomfortable ; per- 
haps he  doesn’t  care  for  me  at  all. 

Mrs.  M.  I’m  afraid,  my  poor  child,  it  looks  very  like  it. 
{Noise  of  gun  fired  outside,  — starting.)  Good  heavens ! what  is 
that? 

Mary.  Nothing,  only  Charles  comeback  from  shooting  — 
he  always  discharges  his  gun  under  the  windows,  to  let  us 
know  he  is  coming. 

Mrs.  M,  A charming  mode  of  announcement,  certainly. 

Enter  Chakles,  c.,  dressed  in  straio  hat  and  shooting  jacket  — he 
is  carrying  a gun,  and  smoking  a cigar. 

Charles  {not  seeing  Mrs.  Markwell,  and  kissing  Mary 
on  forehead).  Good-morning,  little  wife,  good-morning ; wipe 
my  forehead,  there’s  a dear.  I’m  quite  done  up. 

31rs.  M.  {Aside.)  Done  up ! quite  a model  bridegroom. 

Mary  {icith  indifference).  Any  sport? 

Charles  {placing  gun  at  hack).  No,  nothing  worth  speaking 
of,  — a couple  of  rabbits. 

Mrs.  M.  A provision  for  the  wedding-dinner,  I presume. 

Charles.  Ah,  my^  dear  Mrs.  Markwell,  — this  is  indeed  a 
surprise.  Why  I’ve  not  seen  you  these  two  years. 

Mrs.  M.  Time  enough  to  be  forgotten. 

Charles,  forgotten  I why,  I’m  always  talking  to  Mary  about 
you. 

Mrs.  M.  {Aside.)  Then  that’s  what  she  meant  by  his  nevei 
saying  anything. 

Charles.  And  how  is  your  worthy  husband  ? 

Mary  {aside  to  him).  She’s  a widow. 

Charles.  A widow,  my  dear  madam,  I sincerely  congrat  — 

Mary  {pulling  his  coat) . What  are  you  saying ! 

Charles.  I mean  condole  with  you.  though  oue  can  hardly 
regret  any  cause  that  brings  so  charming  a person  among  us. 

31rs.  31.  {Aside.)  Pretty  well  for  a man  who  never  says 
anything.  {Aloud.)  I did  not  know  you  country  gentlemen 
were  so  gallant. 

Charles.  We  want  inspiration,  madam;  but  {bowing)  we 
always  find  pretty  words  for  pretty  women. 

3dary.  Upon  my  word!  So  then  /am  no  inspiration,  as  you 
call  it. 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


i 


. Charles.  Oh,  that’s  a different  thing  altogether.  You  go  for 
nothing,  you  know,  — you’re  ray  little  wife.  \^Chucks  her  under 
the  chin ; she  tarns  away  sulkily.) 

Mrs.  M Wife ! not  yet. 

Charles,  Oh,  yes,  ray  dear  madam,  we’ve  been  married  these 
ten  years ! 

Mrs.  M.  Married  ten  years  ? 

Charles.  Well,  it’s  the  same  thing,  meant  to  be  married  ever 
since  we  were  children ; we  drag  a perpetual  chain. 

il/ary  {sighing).  Ah,  yes,  a perpetual  chain. 

Mrs.  M.  So,  so,  both  in  the  same  song. 

Charles.  And  to  make  matters  more  pleasant,  I see  Mary’s 
in  the  sulks. 

Mary.  And  what  if  I am.  Haven’t  I enough  to  make  me,  left 
alone  all  the  morning? 

Charles.  Why,  my  dear,  I leave  you  alone  every  morning. 

Mary.  I know  it,  and  I don’t  like  it.  Why  are  you  not  like 
other  people?  Why  do  you  not  ride  in  Dan  Cupid’s  ferry- 
boat? 

Charles.  What ! 

Mary.  Why  don’t  you  leave  that  nasty  gun  ? Why  don’t  you 
say  agreeable  things  ? 

Charles.  Agreeable  things  ? I don’t  understand. 

Mary.  No,  sir;  but  I do,  and  I insist  upon  it.  Why  don't 
you  pay  me  little  attentions,  praise  my  looks,  my  hair,  rny 
dress?  Why  don’t  you  whisper  soft  nothings?  In  short,  why 
don’t  you  make  love? 

Charles.  Now,  my  dear  madam,  I appeal  to  you  ; what  on 
earth  can  a fellow  find  to  say  to  a girl  whom  he  sees  at  break- 
fast every  morning  of  his  life  in  a perpetual  course  of  coffee 
and  curl-papers  ? 

Mary.  Curl-papers ! It’s  an  abominable  falsehood ! 

Charles.  And  when  I do  begin  to  talk  you’re  always  at  that 
piano,  and  the  only  answer  I get  is  t-r-m-r-r-r-tor-n.  {Imi- 
tating running  of  scales.)  I’m  sure  those  infernal  scales  are 
enough  to  weigh  any  man’s  spirits  down. 

Mary.  I’m  sure  my  piano  is  quite  as  interesting  as  those 
landscapes  that  you’re  always  pestering  me  to  look  at,  — the 
dreadful  daubs ! 

Charles.  Daubs ! that’s  a nice  remark  for  a wife. 

Mary.  Quite  as  kind  as  coffee  and  curl-papers  from  a 
husband. 

Charles.  Very  well.  Miss  Mary ! C huffed,  take  stage 

Mary.  Very  well,  Mr.  Charles!  \ up  in  opposite  directions. 

Mrs.  M.  What  a charming  commencement  of  conjugal 
comfort  I 

Muddle  {outside).  Very  well,  very  well,  for  goodness  sake 
don't  worry  me ; confound  it  all,  I’ve  nothing  to  with  it. 

Mrs.  M.  Who’s  that? 


8 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Mary.  Only  uncle  come  back  from  fishing.  Don’t  you 
recognize  his  voice  ? 

Mrs.  M.  No,  my  love;  but  I do  the  farailv  temper. 

Muddle  {speaking  off  as  he  enters,  c.).  Very  well,  let  the 
house-keeper  and  the  cook  settle  it  between  tliem.  Fee  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  I’m  sure  the  fuss,  and  the  worry,  and  the  bother^ 
ation’s  enough  to  drive  a man  mad. 

Mrs.  M.  Why,  my  dear  sir,  you  appear  quite  put  out. 

Muddle.  My  dear  madam,  I’m  not  only  put  out,  but  I’m 
upset.  Everything’s  upset  to-day  and  the  whole  house  is  topsy- 
turvy; everything’s  out  of  the  usual  coarse. 

Mrs.  M.  Dear  me,  I don’t  perceive  it. 

Mary.  La,  my  dear,  uncle’s  always  in  a pucker  about  trifles. 

Muddle.  Trifles!  Is  the  marriage  a trifle?  and  the  lawyer 
a trifle?  and  the  settlements  a trifle?  To  say  nothing  of  the 
dinner,  and  my  being  compelled  to  wear  my  dress-coat  that’s  a 
mile  too  small  for  me,  and  being  put  out  of  one’s  usual  course. 

Mrs.  M.  I am  sorry,  my  dear  sir,  if  my  arrival  has  added  to 
your  discomfort. 

Muddle.  Not  at  all,  my  dear  friend ; not  at  all,  I expected 
you.  But  you  see,  every  morning  of  my  life  for  the  last  fif- 
teen years.  I’ve  made  it  a practice  to  go  fishing,  and  just  as 
they  came  to  tell  me  you  were  here,  I had  got  a beautiful  bleak 
at  the  end  of  my  line,  and  the  fellow  startled  me  so  that  I lost 
him,  — the  first  bite  I’d  had  since  four  this  morning.  Well, 
children,  squabbling  as  usual?  {They  rise  and  come  down.) 

Mary.  It’s  all  his  fault. 

Charles.  On  the  contrary,  uncle,  she  picked  a quarrel  with 
me. 

Muddle.  Oh,  yes,  it’s  the  old  story,  — they’v^e  been  squab- 
bling, my  dear  madam,  ever  since  they  were  children.  Ah, 
theirs  will  be  a happy  match,  — nothing  like  diversity  of  dispo- 
sition. 

Mrs.  M.  I don’t  quite  understand  that,  unless  you  mean  that 
in  marriage,  as  in  homoeopathy,  love  cures  love. 

Muddle.  My  meaning  to  a T,  my  dear  madam,  but  much 
better  expressed. 

Mary  {coaxingly  putting  her  hand  on  his  arm).  Uncle,  dear! 

Muddle.  Well,  Mary,  my  dear! 

Mary.  Is  — is  this  marriage  quite  decided  on  ? 

Muddle.  Decided ! Is  the  girl  mad  ? a thing  that  was  always 
intended,  — that  has  been  settled  for  the  last  fifteen  years.  Oh, 
for  goodness’  sake,  let  us  get  it  over  and  have  done  with  it. 

Charles.  Yes,  let’s  do  it,  and  have  done  with  it.  {They  go 
up;  she  sits  at  work,  and  he  plays  with  the  lock  of  his  gun  — sit- 
ting back  to  hack,  opposite  sides.) 

Mrs.  M.  {Aside.)  Poor  young  people  — ’twould  be  a kindnesi 
to  break  off  such  a union. 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


£ 


Muddle,  Ah,  madam,  what  a day ! I am  the  most  unfortu* 
hate  of  uncles. 

Mrs,  M.  {Mysteriously.')  I comprehend ; in  fact,  I wished  tc 
Bpeak  to  you  upon  the  subject. 

Muddle  {offeriiKj  chair).  I shall  be  delighted  to  have  your 
assistance  in  so  important  an  arrangement. 

Mrs.  M.  You  see  it  requires  great  delicacy.  (Sits.) 

Muddle.  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  I wish  to  have  every  delicacy; 
but,  unfortunately,  it’s  not  much  in  any  way,  and  the  couniry 
aflbrds  such  \ ery  few  resources.  (Sits,  r.  c.) 

Mrs.  M.  The  country ! 

Muddle.  Yes;  the  cook  insists  on  four  entrees  and  a des- 
sert; and,  if  I send  all  the  way  to  Coventry,  they'll  be  as 
cold  as  a stone  before  they  come  to  table. 

Mrs,  M.  1 am  surprised,  sir,  you  can  neglect,  for  such  ridic- 
ulous details,  a question  so  momentous. 

Muddle.  Momentous!  Good  gracious  me.  What’s  happened 
now?  To  what  question  do  you  refer? 

Mrs.  M.  The  future  lot  of  these  young  people.  Are  5^011 
quite  sure  they  will  be  happy? 

Muddle.  Happy?  Why,  how  can  they  be  otherwise ? Our 
life  here  is  a perfect  picture  of  domestic  felicity  — Eden  with- 
out the  serpent.  In  the  morning  I.  read  the  paper ; they  listen  ; 
then  we  breakfast.  I go  fishing  — Charles  goes  shooting;  or, 
if  it’s  wet,  we  play  a game  at  billiards  — Mary  plays  the  piano 
or  potters  about  the  flower-beds ; then  we  dine ; then  we  go 
to  sleep ; and,  in  the  evening,  we  play  a round  at  cribbage,  and 
go  to  sleep  again. 

Mrs.  M.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! Truly  delightful,  indeed ; but  some- 
what dififereut  Horn  our  town  notions  of  enjoyment. 

Mary  (eagerly  coming  down ^ t,.).  Difierent!  Oh,  then,  do  tell 
us  all  about  it,  there’s  a dear.  How  do  you  pass  the  time? 
What  do  you  do?  What  do  you  see?  Do  you  play  the  piano? 
Does  everybody  go  out  shooting  and  fishing?  Do  they  ride  in 
Dan  Cupid’s  ferry-boat  ? Do  they  — 

Charles  (coming  down,  R.).  How  on  earth  can  anybody  speak 
while  you  gabble  away  at  that  rate  ? 

Mary.  Gabble,  indeed!  I’m  sure  it’s  you  that  interrupts. 
(To  Mrs.  Markwell.)  Pray,  tell  us  all  about  it. 

Mrs.  M.  I hardly  know  how  to  describe  it,  my  love ; but  in 
London,  life  is  a perpetual  gala;  balls,  concerts,  plays,  operas, 
parties;  in  short,  an  unceasinground  of  unpremeditated  excite- 
ment; and  the  morning  never  knows  what  the  evening  may 
bring  forth. 

Muddle.  What  infernal  irregularity!  just  like  the  late  Mrs 
Muddle;  never  knew  her  own  mind  for  two  minutes  together. 

Charles.  Now  do  be  quiet,  uncle  : the  picture  is  delightful. 

Mary  Oh,  yes,  charming!  do  go  on. 

Mrs.  M.  Then,  there  are  the  new  fashions  and  the  shops 


10 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Snell  shops ! Ah,  rny  clear,  you  would  open  your  eyes  ; but  1 
see  you  are  doing  so  already. 

Mary.  Yes,  yes;  goon. 

Mrs.  M.  In  short,  my  love,  if  one  is  only  passable,  London 
is  one  round  of  admiring  and  admirers. 

Mary.  Admirers  — do  you  hear  that,  Charles ? 

Charles  (l.  Mrs.  Markwell).  Then,  of  course,  madam, 
you  have  only  to  choose. 

Mrs.  M.  Alas,  who  can  one  believe.  Such  a battery  of  bon 
mots,  bouquets,  and  badinage  is  very  confusing. 

Mary.  Bon  mots  and  bouquets!  That  is  a lesson  for  you, 
Charles. 

Charles.  Yes,  yes ; I understand.  Kivalry,  excitement,  jeal- 
ous3%  obstacles  to  overcome,  pursuit  and  happiness. 

Muddle.  Pursuit,  indeed ! Stiiif  and  nonsense ! What’s  that 
to  peace  of  mind  and  perfect  tranquillity?  (Jb  Mrs.  Mark- 
well.)  I presume,  madam,  you  will  soon  follow  our  example  ! 

Mrs.  M.  Well,  sir,  I’m  afraid  I’m  rather  hard  to  please. 
{Looking  at  Charles.)  My  husband  must  be  handsome,  clever, 
and  to  refinement  of  mind  add  refinement  of  manners. 

Muddle.  Then  yours  is  a hopeless  case,  madam;  the  phoenix 
has  died  out  long  ago. 

Charles  (aside).  Confound  this  shooting-jacket!  (Looking 
at  watch.)  Half-past  eleven.  Will  you  excuse  me,  madam, 
whilst  I change  my  costume  for  one  more  fitting  this  — this  — 

Muddle.  Happy  occasion.  We  understand.  (Goes  up  and 
talks  to  Servant,  who  enters  at  hack.) 

Charles.  Exactly.  Happy  occasion.  (Going  — aside.)  She 
certainly  is  a delightful  woman. 

Mrs.  M.  (Coquettishly.)  Will  the  conqueror  be  long  in  arming 
for  victory? 

Charles.  Conqueror!  rather  say  vanquished,  my  dear  mad- 
am. (Bows  — going.)  Charming  creature ! 

Mary.  Charles!  Charles!  (He  returns.)  Are  you  going 
like  that? 

Charles.  Like  what  ? 

Mary.  Have  you  nothing  to  say  ? 

Charles  (patting  her  cheek,  and  looking  at  Mrs.  Markwell). 
Oh,  ta,  ta,  little  wife ; ta,  ta.  (Aside,  going  out.)  She  certalnl}! 
is  a charming  woman.  [Exit,  r.  2 e. 

Mary.  Ta  — ta,  indeed ! I suppose  he  calls  that  a bon  mot. 

Muddle,  (having  Servant,  who  exits  l.  c.,  and  coming  down 
with  newspaper  in  his  hand).  Now,  here’s  another  bore.  Al- 
ready the  lawyer’s  come,  two  hours  before  his  time.  I wish 
people  would  be  punctual ; just  my  time  for  reading  tne  papers ; 
and  now  I must  read  his  instead;  for  that  infernal  Project  is 
sure  to  pester  me  about  some  pet  scheme  or  other. 

Mrs.  M.  Project! 

Muddle.  Yes ; of  the  firm  of  Project  and  Forecast ; sharpest 


ALWAYS  IN'  KNDED. 


11 


practitioners  in  the  county.  So  I got  them  to  draw  Mary’s 
settlements. 

Mrs.  M.  To  be  sure.  I remember,  a very  gentlemanly  man, 
Mr.  Project.  {To  Mary.)  Such  a good  vvaltzer! 

Mary.  Good  gracious ! and  I’m  quite  a fright.  I must  gc 
and  dress  for  — f()r  — 

Muddle.  Yes,  yes,  we  understand;  for  the  happy  occasion. 

Mary  {goiiicj).  xlh,  my  dear  friend,  I feel  so  miserable;  and, 
if  I dared  — I d — But,  I suppose  it’s  too  late.  \_Exit  l.  d. 

Muddle.  Late!  {Looking  at  loateh.)  Confound  it,  my  watch 
has  stopped,  and  we  shall  all  be  late;  and  I’ve  got  to  look  after 
those  four  courses,  and  cram  myself  into  that  cursed  coat. 
Oh,  what  a day  ! 

Project  {speaking  as  he  enters  c.,  down  l.  c.).  Yes,  yes;  I 
understand  perfectly.  Ah,  my  dear  neighbor,  here  I am.  Come 
full-speed  all  the  way.  \Youldift  be  late,  on  an  occasion  like 
this,  for  the  universe.  I’ve  brought  the  papers,  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  happiness,  {Pats  paper  on  table.)  Will  you 
give  orders  to  see  to  my  Bucephalus? 

Muddle  {going  up).  Bucephalus!  I call  it  a Welsh  pony. 
Peter,  look  after  Mr.  Project’s  nag.  {Sits  and  reads.) 

Project.  And  now,  introduce  me  to  the  bride.  Miss  Con- 
stant, I presume.  Allow  me  to  offer  — 

Mrs.  M.  {Turning  round.)  Your  hand  to  an  old  acquaintance. 
Mr.  Project. 

Project.  Mrs.  Markwell!  This  is  delightful.  Ah,  madam, 
that  winter  in  London,  when  we  danced  together  so  often,  lias 
left  an  impression,  that  in  short,  a kind  of  indelible  — inefface- 
able — if  I might  express  myself — I say,  if  I might  express 
myself — 

Mrs.  M.  You  certainly  might,  Mr.  Project,  and  much  more 
plainly. 

Project  {aside).  The  pretty  widow’s  as  sharp  as  a needle. 

Mrs.  M.  I presume  that  you  mean  you  regret  tlie  metrop- 
olis ! 

Project.  Ah,  madam,  regret  is  not  the  word.  I positively 
pine  for  it.  You  may  see  that  I am  wasting  away.  You  behold 
in  me,  madam,  the  most  fanatical  partisan  of  centralization. 
In  London  I live;  in  the  country  I vegetate.  I require  excite- 
ment, bustle,  movement. 

Mrs.  M.  Your  choice  of  a profession,  then,  is  unfortunate. 

Project.  Not  at  all,  madam,  not  at  all.  I am  aware  that  an 
impression  exists  that  a lawyer’s  is  a plodding,  dull,  prosaic 
profession;  but  all  depends  on  the  temperament  of  the  prac- 
titioner. Lawyers,  madam,  may  be  separated  into  two  great 
classes,  the  fusty  and  the  fast.  I belong  to  tlie  latter  and  more 
brilliant  category.  The  former  coniine  themselves  to  Cum.m  n 
Law,  Chancery,  and  Conveyancing,  while  we  delight  in  can- 
vassing for  Elections,  llailway  Bills,  Marriage  Settlements,  and 


12 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Actions  for  Ciim.  Con.,  — T should  say,  Conjugal  Separation  — 
and  if  we  are  but  fortunate  in  a partner  — 

Mrs.  M.  Partner,  why,  I understood  you  ha^l  one! 

Project,  Yes,  yes,  madam;  but  I mean  a partner  for  life, 
and  when  I say  partner,  you  must  understand  a portion.  You 
see  the  requirements  of  modern  civilization  are  so  many  tlnP 
professional  prolits  are  not  adequate  to  tiieir  supply.  My 
friend  Muddle  here  is  a lucky  man,  and  he  has  promised  to  find 
a suitable  match. 

Muddle.  I wish  to  goodness  you’d  let  me  alone.  I’d  just  got 
to  where  the  lover  was  scaling  the  balcony.  {Bell  at  gate.) 
More  arrivals.  Deuce  take  it ! Oh,  what  a day  I 

Charles,  r.  2.  e.,  in  full  dress,  with  a bouquet. 

Charles  {presenting  bouquet).  May  I be  permitted. 

Mrs.  M.  What  a charming  bouquet ! 

Muddle  {aside).  Been  at  my  roses  again.  Oh,  what  a day  ! 
{Bell.)  There’s  the  luncheon-bell.  I suppose  you’ll  loin  us, 
Mr.  Project? 

Project.  No,  thank  you,  I’ll  stay  here,  and  take  a last  look  at 
the  papers,  there  are  one  or  two  iittle  points  to  see  to.  {Sits 
at  table.) 


Enter  Servant,  l.  2 e. 

Servant.  Miss  Mary  says  you’re  not  to  wait  for  her,  sir; 
she’s  not  very  well. 

Charles.  Ah,  still  in  the  sulks ; just  like  her. 

Mrs.  M.  Indeed!  how  sorry  I am  for  you. 

Charles  {offering  his  arm,  which  she  takes;  leads  her  up).  O 
madam,  at  this  moment  I am  to  be  envied,  not  pitied. 

Muddle  {reading).  “But  how’  the  deuce  can  he  scale  four 
stories  with  a pistol  in  one  hand  and  a dark  lantern  in  the 
other?  ” 

Mrs.  M.  Are  you  coming,  Mr.  Muddle  ? 

Muddle.  Yes,  yes,  I’m  coming;  no  such  a thing  as  a 
moment’s  peace.  Oli,  what  a clay! 

[^Exit,  following  Charles  a ?^(:Z  Mrs.  Markwell,  l 

Project  {mending pen).  Charming  person  that  widow;  un- 
fortunately her  husband  left  her  nothing  but  a doubtful  Chan- 
cery suit,  and  that  doesn’t  suit  me.  Extraordinary  thing  how 
scarce  money  is!  Here  am  I,  a man  whom  any  woman  might 
fall  in  love  with,  who  pass  my  time  in  marrying  other  people, 
and  can’t  find  an  heiress  for  myself.  Now  hero’s  a chance  this 
fellow’s  got,  twenty  thousand  in  cash,  and  heaven  knows  how 
many  acres  — 

Be-enter  Mary,  as  Bride,  l. 

Mary.  A pretty  subject  for  congratulation,  truly'.  Julia  was 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


1.^ 

right.  He  doesn’t  pay  me  the  slightest  attention.  Of  course, 
I said  I was  ill  to  see  if  he  would  fetch  me.  Not  at  all.  He 
treats  my  absence  with  the  utmost  iudifierence. 

Project,  Two  hundred  and  sixty  acres,  be  the  same  more  or 
less. 

Mary  {seeing  him).  A stranger! 

Project,  Oh,  don’t  mind  me.  I was  just  looking  at  the  deed. 

Mary.  I presume,  sir,  you  are  my  uncle’s  solicitor? 

Project.  IJncle!  Have  I the  honor  of  addressing  the  bride? 
{Bises.') 

Mary.  Oh,  yes,  I am  the  bride.  {Sighing.) 

Project.  Delighted  to  offer  my  congratulations.  I was  ad- 
miring the  real  property,  but  I see  that  the  personal  far  exceeds 
it  in  value.  {Aside.)  Kather  neatly  said,  I flatter  m^^self. 
{Aloud.)  But  how  is  it  that  you  are  alone  ? 

Mary.  It  is  odd,  is  it  not?  ( Weeps.) 

Project.  Tears  I who  can  have  dared  to  afflict  so  beautiful  a 
person  on  this  auspicious  day? 

Mary  Auspicious  day ! i think  every  one  is  in  a conspiracy 
to  call  it  so. 

Project.  Conspiracy ! Might  I without  indiscretion  ask  you 
to  explain?  My  official  character  may  warrant  your  confidence, 
and  accustomed  as  we  are  to  events  of  this  nature  — 

Mary.  True,  sir,  you  ought  to  know  something  of  marriage. 

Project.  My  dear  young  lady,  it  has  been  my  special  study. 

Mary.  Then,  perhaps,  you  can  inform  me;  but,  perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  ask  — 

Project.  What  on  earth  can  she  want  to  know?  {Aloud.) 
Speak,  madam. 

Mary.  I wish  to  know  if  in  other  houses  where  you  are 
professionally  engaged,  matters  pass  off"  as  they  do  here? 

Project.  Oh,  never!  Generally  speaking  we’re  surrounded 
by  a crowd  of  busy  Iriends  and  relations,  and  it  is  seldom  I 
enjoy  my  present  privilege  of  testifying  admiration  for  the 
bride. 

Mary.  Indeed ! 

Project.  Yes,  generally  the  bridegroom  is  so  jealous  that 
he  follows  her  like  her  shadow. 

Mary.  Then  Charles,  you  see,  is  not  like  the  other  bride- 
grooms ! 

Project.  Surely  on  a day  like  this  he  is  doubly  attentive. 

Mary.  Ah!  so  Julia  thought ; but  he  never  seems  to  notice 
me.  I don't  believe  he’s  once  looked  at  my  dress,  and  I don’t 
think  it’s  unbecoming,  do  you?  {Bises.) 

Project.  Unbecoming!  charming! 

Mary.  Would  you  believe  it,  he  never  once  told  me  I was 
pretty. 

Project.  Dear  me,  the  man  must  be  blind,  or  else  he  thougld 
the  fact  too  obvious  for  remark. 

2 


14 


always  intended. 


3Iary,  O sir ! 

Project,  Yes,  madam,  I swear  it  by  my  official  character 
and  I am  prepared  if  necessary  — 

3Iarij,  Enough,  sir,  enough,  I believe  you,  and  this  is  how 
Charles  ought  to  talk.  This  is  what  Julia  called  payiiu* 
addresses. 

Project.  Addresses,  and  why  not,  here  goes.  (^Tragically.) 
Alas  ! poor  pallid  sacrifice ! 

Marij.  Sacrifice ! 

Project.  Yes,  I repeat,  a sacrifice, — solitary  sacrifice  to 
cold  neglect.  O heaven ! if  it  had  been  me ! 

Mary.  You? 

Project.  What  fiowers  I could  have  strewn  upon  the  altar! 
How  wild  would  have  been  my  worship  at  that  shrine ! 

Mary.  Sir ! 

Project.  Yes,  I would  have  studied  every  wish,  anticipated 
every  desire. 

Mary.  Yes,  that’s  what  he  should  have  done. 

Project.  Yes,  I would  have  had  “ a palace  lifting  to  eternal 
summer  and  musical  with  ” — (Aside.)  No,  there  I stick ; 
I’d  better  go  on  — on  — my  own  hook.  Yes,  I would  have  l(*d 
you  to  the  metropolis,  the  halls,  the  halls  of  dazzling  light, 
to  the  centre  of  pleasure. 

Mary.  Yes!  operas,  balls,  concerts,  races! 

Project.  Yes,  and  my  happiness  would  be,  to  be  your  slave ! 

Mary.  My  slave ! 

Project.  Yes,  you  should  find  me  ever  at  your  feet. 

Mary.  There  now,  and  Charles  has  never  thrown  himself  at 
my  feet  once.  Ah,  sir,  you,  I see,  would  make  a woman 
happy.  Oh ! is  there  no  way  of  delaying  this  hurried  marriage  ? 
Are  you  quite  sure  that  the  papers  are  all  ready? 

Project.  Quite.  They  only  wait  to  be  executed. 

Mary.  Executed!  horrible  idea,  can  I not  delay  It? 

Project.  Certainly,  speak  to  your  uncle. 

Mary.  Impossible!  I dare  not;  but  you,  sir,  you  ’who  take 
so  much  interest  in  me,  you  are  a lawyer,  and  lawyers  they  sa\  , 
can  prove  anything.  Can’t  you  put  off  this  marriage  for  a few 
weeks  or  months? 

Project.  It  will  be  extremely  difficult;  but  if  your  happiness 
is  at  stake  — 

Mary.  You  will  try,  I am  sure  you  will. 

Project.  And  may  I count  on  your  gratitude  ? 

Mary.  You  may,  you  may;  but  don’t  say  a word  to  my 
cousin;  for  though  he  doesn’t  care  about  me,  he’s  quite  capable 
of  marrying  me  out  of  contradiction. 

Project.  Angelic  being!  trust  to  my  discretion.  (Kisses  hef 
hand  and  puts  her  off  r.,  taking  stage  and  sicaggering .)  I Hatter 
myself  I’ve  done  it  at  last.  An  heiress,  young,  beautiful,  and 
rich ; but  of  course,  with  a face  and  figure  like  m’ne,  the  resul' 


A1.WAYS  INTENDED, 


13 


was  certain.  How  fortunate  for  her!  Here  was  she  with  her 
charms  unappreciated,  and  her  capital  unemployed,  whereas 
now,  the  former  will  be  adored  and  the  latter  invested  to  the 
best  advantage.  Let  me  see,  desirable  investments.  New 
River,  London  and  Westminster,  East  India  Bonds,  and  — 

Charles  {outside).  I’ll  be  back  directly. 

Project.  The  bridegroom ! oh,  the  devil,  I’d  forgotten  him ! 

Be-enter  Charles,  l. 

Charles  {going  eagerly  to  him).  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I come  to 
you  as  a friend.  Are  we  alone? 

Project.  You  see  there’s  nobody  here. 

Charles.  Then  I am  saved. 

Project.  Indeed  I {Aside.)  If  he  was  lost  I shouldn’t  miss 
him. 

Charles.  You  see,  my  dear  sir,  this  is  a most  embarrassing 
affair. 

Project.  It  is,  indeed.  {Aside.)  What  the  deuce  shall  I sny 
to  him  ? 

Charles,  May  I ask  a particular  favor  of  you  ? 

Project.  Oh,  certainly.  There  can  be  no  harm  in  asking. 

Charles.  Then  instantly  exert  your  influence  to  prevent  this 
marriage. 

Project  {eagerly).  I shall  be  only  too  delighted.  {Becovfr- 
ing  himself.)  That  is  — hem!  I should  rather  say,  that  in 
a measure  of  this  grave  responsibility,  I would  willingly  do 
anything  not  strictly  incompatible  with  my  professional  char- 
acter. 

Charles.  Oh,  certainly;  it’s  strictly  compatible.  You  must 
invent  some  ingenious  subterfuge  — some  evasion  — some  — 
some  kind  of — 

Project.  I understand ; not  a suggestio  falsi,  but  a mild  sup- 
pressio  veri. 

Charles.  Oh,  is  that  what  you  call  it?  There  is  a shorter 
word  — 

Project.  There  is ; but  it  is  not  professional.  Am  I then  to 
understand  that  you  do  not  love  your  cousin? 

Charles.  Oh,  by  no  means.  I love  her  pretty  well ; but  I 
only  marry  her  to  please  the  family.  You  see,  she’s  a child. 
Why,  I’m  three  years  older  than  she  is. 

Project.  Three  years ! 

Charles.  Yes;  three  years  and  a half. 

Project.  Ah ! that  makes  an  enormous  difference, 

Charles.  Of  course.  A new  doll  would  suit  her  better  tliau 
a husband.  How  can  she  understand  love?  That  is  the  sort 
of  feeling  that  — 

Project.  I understand  perfectly.  You  ought  not  to  permit 
the  sacriflee,  for  her  sake  as  well  as  your  owm;  and  it  is  youi 
duty  at  once  to  declare  — 


16 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Charles,  Mine!  Oh,  no;  you  must  do  that.  My  uncle  is 
very  violent,  and  has  set  his  heart  upon  this  match;  and  as  it 
will  require  some  amount  of  cajolery  to  persuade  him  — 

Project,  You  thoug’ht  of  me?  A most  flattering  preference; 
but  you  must  furnish  me  with  some  pretext. 

Charles.  Oh,  that’s  easy  enough;  anything  will  serve  for 
a pretext.  M3"  cousin’s  fortune  was  only  estimated  at  twenty 
thousand  pounds ; and  I know  there’s  another  fifteen  stands  iu 
her  name  in  the  Three  per  Cents,  that  they  said  iiotliing  about, 
that  I might  not  blush  at  the  discrepancy  of  our  fortunes. 

Project,  Fifteen  thousand!  That  makes  five  and  thirty 
thous  — Infamous  deception.  Say  no  more,  my  dear  friend. 
I’ll  find  means  to  prevent  this  sacrifice. 

Charles  {shaking  his  hand).  Thank  you;  and  if  ever  I can 
return  the  obligation,  put  me  in  mind  of  it. 

Project,  I will,  I will. 

Charles.  Do ; and  the  sooner  the  better.  But  you  must  see 
my  uncle  at  once,  and  give  him  good  reasons  for  what  you  say. 

Project.  Certainly,  my  dear  friend,  certainly.  {Going,  aside.) 
I’ve  thirty  thousand  golden  ones  entirely"  at  his  service. 

\^Exit,  rapidly,  l.  2 e. 

Charles.  Now,  who  would  have  expected  such  disinterested- 
ness in  a lawver?  It’s  positively"  refreshing!  He  seems  as 
eager  for  my  happiness,  as  though  it  were  his  own.  Oh,  that 
beautiful  widow ! How  sympathetic ! What  a touching  picture 
she  drew  of  marriage  without  love ! By  Jove ! here’s  Mary  * 
I didn’t  expect  her. 

Be~enter  Mary,  r.  2 e. 

Mary.  I should  like  to  know  what  Mr.  Project  has  said. 
{Seeing  him.)  Ah,  cousin,  are  you  there? 

Charles  {aside).  I don’t  know  what  to  say  to  her. 

Mary,  I must  tell  him.  I wonder  how  he’ll  bear  it. 

Charles.  Well,  little  wife,  — I mean  cousin ; I ve  — I’ve  seen 
our  solicitor. 

3Iary.  So  — so  have  I. 

Charles.  It  seems  that  there  are  some  serious  obstacles  to 
our  marriage. 

3Iary.  So  he  told  me. 

Charles  {astonished).  Told  you!  When? 

3Iary.  Just  now;  ten  minutes  ago.  Something  wrong  in 
the  papers. 

Charles  {aside).  Why,  confound  it,  the  difficulty  was  of  my 
making. 

31ary.  And  perhaps  it  will  have  to  be  —postponed. 

Charles.  So  I understand.  {Pause.)  Perhaps  you’re  not 
very  sorry  for  it. 

Mary,  I don’t  know.  What  do  you  think  ? 

Charles  {aside).  It’s  best  to  be  candid. 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


I* 

Mary  (aside).  I’ll  tell  him  at  once.  Charles,  you  won’t  be 
cross  at  what  I’m  going  to  tell  you? 

Charles,  Something  to  tell  me?  What  is  it? 

3fary,  Do  you  know,  Charles,  I — I — I — think — that  — 
that  I don’t  love  you  the  least  bit  in  the  world ; there.  (Sits,  r.) 

Charles,  No,  really!  is  that  all?  (SUs^i.,) 

Mary,  All ! 

Charles,  Now  do  you  know,  little  wife,  it’s  very  odd,  but  I 
was  just  about  to  tell  you  — 

Mary,  What? 

Charles,  That  I don’t  care  a bit  about  you. 

Mary,  Then  we’re  both  of  the  same  way  of  thinking. 

Charles,  Exactly,  and  very  naturally  too.  You  see,  my  deal? 
Mary,  our  education  in  common  has  proved  an  insuperable  bar 
to  our  happiness.  Brought  up  together,  we  could  not  feel 
towards  each  other  as  strangers  would;  in  short,  Avith  the 
same  hopes,  and  almost  habits,  we  know  too  much  of  each 
other. 

Mary,  You’re  quite  right,  Charles,  I know  too  much  of  you. 

Charles,  You  see  there’s  no  romance  in  it.  I can’t  forget 
the  little  girl  in  a pinafore  smelling  of  bread  and  butter  and 
stick  liquorice. 

Mary.  Nor  I the  dirty,  rude  boy  with  his  ragged  cap  and  the 
knees  of  his  trousers  out. 

Charles,  You  were  always  telling  tales. 

Mary,  Yes,  because  you  would  put  my  doll’s  eyes  out. 

Charles,  Yes,  and  you  were  always  pinching  me,  and  pulling 
my  hair. 

Mary,  Yes,  because  you  were  always  teasing  me. 

Charles,  Then  you  know  you’re  just  as  sulky  as  ever  you 
were. 

Mary,  And  you’re  just  as  quarrelsome. 

Charles,  I’m  afraid  we  should  have  been  very  unhappy. 

Mary,  I’m  quite  sure  we  should,  and  now  we  shall  be  as 
happy  as  two  birds  out  of  a cage.  I say,  Charles,  isn’t  it  odd? 

Charles,  What  do  you  mean? 

Mary,  Why,  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives,  we’re  of  the  same 
opinion. 

Tie-enter  Muddle,  l.,  violently  taking  stage. 

Muddle,  Oh ! this  is  too  much ! 

3Iary,  My  dear  uncle ! 

Muddle,  Oh ! 

Charles,  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Project? 

Muddle,  Don’t  speak  to  me,  sir. 

Charles,  But  uncle  — 

Muddle,  Avvay,  unnatural  nephew. 

3Iary,  • My  dear  sir  — 

Muddle,  Begone,  most  perfidious  of  nieces ! serpent  that  1 
2* 


18 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


have  warmed  in  my  bosom.  Two  serpents  — a coil  of  serpents. 
Oil ! what  a clay ! I shall  have  a fit,  1 know  I shall  I 

Mary,  Surely,  uncle,  you  would  not  wish  us  to  be  miserable ! 

Muddle,  Miserable? 

Charles,  Certainly,  miserable  forever. 

Muddle,  You  don't  say  so ! 

31ary,  Wretched  for  life ! 

Muddle,  Who’d  have  thought  it ! 

Charles,  I’d  rather  perish  than  do  violence  to  my  cousin’s 
feelings. 

Mary,  And  I’d  rather  die  an  old  maid  than  marry  him 
against  his  will. 

Muddle,  Good  gracious  me  I but  it  was  always  intended.  It 
upsets  all  our  ideas,  or  idea,  for  I never  had  but  one. 

Both.  Now,  my  dear  sir,  pray  consider,  — 

Muddle,  That's  what  I wish  to  do,  if  you’d  give  me  time. 
{They  retire  and  interchange  signs,')  After  all,  if  it’s  a mistake, 
it’s  better  discovered  now  than  later.  They’re  young,  and  the 
marriage  once  broken  off,  we  can  all  go  on  in  the  same  even 
tenor  of  our  way.  He’ll  go  shooting;  I shall  go  fishing,  and 
she’ll  play  the  piano  in  the  old  comfortable  jog-trot  manner. 

Both.  Well,  uncle? 

Muddle,  Anything  for  a quiet  life,  my  children,  — I consent. 

Both,  0 you  dear  uncle.  {They  embrace  him.) 

Muddle,  There,  there,  that’ll  do. 

Enter  Jane,  l. 

Jane,  If  you  please,  sir,  here’s  the  dinner  come  from 
Coventry. 

Muddle,  Send  it  back. 

Jane,  And  the  tenantry,  sir. 

Muddle.  Send  ’em  to  Coventry  after  the  dinner.  Come, 
nephew,  let’s  find  Project,  and  settle  this  unfortunate  business 
at  once.  \_Exit  hurriedly  with  Charles,  l. 

Jane  {holding  up  her  hands  in  astonishment).  Well,  I never! 

lExit  L. 

Mary.  At  last,  then,  I can  breathe  freely ; I’m  my  own  mis- 
tress, and  free  to  do  as  I like.  For  want  of  a little  resolution 
I might  have  been  miserable  for  life.  Ah,  here  comes  my  kind 
deliverer. 

Enter  Project,  l. 

Oh,  sir,  how  shall  I thank  you? 

Project,  By  keeping  your  promise.  Miss  Mary.  You  see  I’ve 
kept  mine. 

Mary,  You  have  indeed.  It’s  quite  surprising. 

Project,  No,  no;  nothing  surprising.  An  attorney’s  attri- 
butes arc  to  arrange  or  disarrange  anything  according  as  he 
paid.  It’s  strictly  professional.  May  I claim  my  reward? 


ALWAYS  IN’fKNDKD. 


Mary,  Reward ! 

Project  {very  tragically),  O Miss  Mary  I 

3fary  {alarmed).  Sir! 

Project,  Do  you  not  see  the  canker  that  corrodes  me? 

31ary,  No ; indeed  I do  not. 

Project,  You  do  not  see  the  ardent  love  — I would  in  vaiiE 
dissemble.  O heavens ! {Clasps  hand  to  forehead.) 

Mary,  Love ! Why,  you  saw  me  for  the  first  time  an  hour 
ago. 

Project.  That’s  it ; love  at  first  sight.  The  love  that  poets 
tell  of.  The  strongest,  most  devoted,  most  unreflecting.  Your 
cousin  has  known  you  fifteen  years,  and  never  appreciated  the 
treasure  in  his  grasp. 

Mary.  That’s  true. 

Project,  Whilst  I no  sooner  beheld  those  pecuniary  — 1 
mean,  those  peculiar  charms,  than  I exclaimed,  “ Yes,  yes ; 
that  is  the  woman  I adore.” 

3Iary.  Is  it  possible? 

Project  {very  loud,  and  clapping  his  hand  on  his  breast), 
Mary  I 

3Iary,  Good  gracious ! 

Project,  Love,  like  the  lightning’s  flash,  is  all  pervading! 
Ill  vain  you  would  deny  it;  you  must  have  felt  the  sympathetic 
shock.  Then  yield  to  its  decrees,  and  make  me  to-day  the 
happiest  of  men. 

3Iary,  To-day? 

Project,  To-day;  this  very  hour.  Your  uncle  will  not  op- 
pose it.  The  papers  are  ready,  and  we  have  only  to  substitute 
one  name  for  another. 

3Iarii,  But  I don’t  even  know  your  name. 

Project.  Percy  — Percy  Project.  My  motto,  persevere. 
Your  answer,  most  adorable  of  women ; your  answer. 

Mary,  You  leave  me  no  time  for  reflection. 

Project,  No,  no.  You  see  where  reflection  has  led  your 
cousin.  Say,  then,  you  consent  at  once.  You  are  your  own 
mistress.  Give  me  but  a word,  a look,  a sign ; and  behold  me, 
dear  Mary,  at  your  feet.  {Spreads  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
kneels  on  it,  c.  Tableau,) 

Pe-enter  Mrs.  Markwell,  l. 

3Irs,  31,  Why,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 

31ary,  It  means,  Julia,  that  I have  profited  by  your  lessons ; 
my  marriage  is  broken  olf,  and  this  gentleman’s  position  — 

3Irs,  31,  Explains  itself.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Project,  {rising),  O madam,  do  not  laugh;  but  rather 
sympathize  with  the  most  devoted  of  — of  — of  — 

3Ls.  M.  Attorneys,  ha!  ha!  ha!  No  wonder  you  wish  fo/ 
a brief  answer,  ha!  ha!  ha!  {Extending  her  hand,  which  hi 
kisses.'^  There,  I’ll  say  a good  word  for  you. 


20 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Project,  Oh,  thanks,  thanks.  ( To  Mary.)  Adieu,  beautiful 
being.  I will  return  to  know  my  fate;  but  renrember,  tliat 
suspense  is  — is  agony.  [Exit,  extravaganUij,  c. 

3Iarif,  Dear  me;  love  seems  a terrible  thing,  to  judge  by 
the  language  it  employs. 

3Irs.  31.  La ! my  love,  it  calms  down  amazingly ; and  so  this 
ill-assorted  match  is  broken  off? 

3Iarif.  Quite,  thank  goodness.  Love  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, so  I followed  your  advice. 

3£rs.  31.  Receive,  then,  my  congratulations,  and  at  the  same 
time,  my  adieus. 

3fary.  What,  going? 

3frs.  31.  Yes ; my  task  is  accomplished,  and  I return  to  town 
at  once. 

31ary.  At  once. 

3Irs.  31.  Yes ; the  carriage  is  at  the  door. 

3Iary  {looking  off).  1 don’t  see  it;  but  there’s  Charles’s 
horse. 

3Irs.  31.  Yes ; he  insists  on  accompanying  me. 

Mary.  Charles  going  too  ? 

Mrs.  31.  Naturally,  after  what  has  occurred. 

Mary.  What’s  that  to  do  with  it?  I certainly  didn’t  mean  to 
marry  him.  But  I didn’t  mean  to  send  him  away. 

3Irs.  31.  Oh,  he’s  going  with  me. 

3Iary.  You ! 

3Irs.  31.  Yes,  he’s  politeness  and  attention  itself. 

3Iary.  What,  Charles  ? Why,  this  morning  you  persuaded 
me  he  was  the  very  opposite. 

Mrs.  31.  Yes,  for  you. 

• 31ary.  Ah ! I begin  to  understand.  To  you,  then  — 

3Irs.  31.  He  seems  altogether  different.  Besides,  we  don’t 
all  think  alike.  I am  not,  like  you,  tired  of  seeing  and  listen- 
ing to  him.  And  1 confess,  when  he  declared  himself  this 
morning  — 

Mary.  This  morning ! what  before  our  rupture  — when  he 
was  still  my  affianced  husband  ? 

Mrs.  31.  Certainly.  You  told  me  plainly  you  wouldn’t  have 
him,  and  so  — 

3Iary.  You  sacrificed  yourself  for  me? 

3Irs.  31.  Yes,  I thought  I was  doing  you  a service. 

3Iary.  Oh,  certainly,  a very  great  one,  and  I must  say  you’ve 
lost  no  time ! This  morning  you  convinced  me  he  was  not  at 
all  suited  for  me,  and  this  afternoon  you  take  the  useless 
commodity  off  my  hands.  Your  kindness  is  remarkable. 

3Irs.  31.  Do  you  then  regret  tlie  loss? 

3Iary.  Regret  him,  no.  I know  him  too  well.  A pretty 
escape  I’ve  had.  A man  who  before  my  eyes,  on  the  very 
morning  of  our  intended  union,  was  paying  attentions  tc 
another  woman  — unparalleled  duplicity ! 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


2 


Mri.  M,  Not  altogether  unparalleled,  unless  Mr.*  Project  Is 
mistaken. 

3Iary,  And  he’s  not  mistaken.  I like  him  better  than 
Charles;  lie’s  better  looking,  better  behaved,  disinterested, 
kind,  trustworthy,  and  I’ll  have  him  directly. 

Enter  Muddle  in  dressing-gown,  l.,  with  a newspaper. 

Muddle.  There,  I’ve  got  out  of  that  beastly  dress  coat,  and 
now  I’ll  finish  my  article. 

Mary.  Oh,  my  dear  uncle,  I consent  to  everything ; you  dc 
the  same  thing,  and  I’ll  be  married  this  very  morning,  nay; 
this  very  hour,  provided  Charles  knows  of  it  before  he  goes. 
Oh,  the  traitor ! \_Exit  l. 

3Inddle  {confused,  turning  to  Mrs.  Markwell).  Why,  what’s 
the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 

3Irs.  31.  Mr.  Project  has  solicited  Mary’s  hand,  and  she 
consents,  that’s  all. 

Enter  Project,  c. 

Muddle  (r.).  All,  then  everything’s  to  be  upset  all  over 
again.  Oh,  what  a day ! 

Project  {dowiiG.).  My  dear  sir,  it’s  quite  true,  the  papers 
are  prepared  accordingly,  and  we  only  want  your  consent, 

3Iuddle.  But  I don’t  understand. 

Project.  The  papers  ? that’s  quite  immaterial,  no  one  ever 
does. 

3Iuddle.  But  what  on  earth  does  it  all  mean?  She  will  have 
you,  and  she  won’t  have  Charles. 

Enter  Charles,  c.,  from  l.,  puts  hat  on  table,  comes  down. 

Charles.  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I was  looking  for  you  to  say 
gof)d-by. 

31nddle.  Good-by!  What,  are  you  going  ? 

Charles.  Yes,  I have  the  happiness  to  accompany  this  lady 
to  London. 

3Irs.  31.  No,  no,  pray  don’t  mix  me  up  in  this  matter;  it’s  a 
family  affair  in  which  I must  remain  entirely  neuter.  You,  my 
dear  sir,  will  see  me  to  the  train. 

3Iuddle.  But  I don’t  understand. 

3Irs.  31.  ( Taking  his  arm.)  Then  come  with  me  and  I will 
explain  everything. 

3Iuddle.  6h,  dear!  oh,  dear!  when  shall  I have  a quiet 
moment  again? 

[Exit  with  Mrs.  Markwell,  c.  to  l.,  who  salutes  CuAm^m. 

Charles.  I will  overtake  her  as  soon  as  the  old  gentleman 
quits  her ; and  now  to  take  leave  of  my  cousin. 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


Enter  Jane,  l. 

Where  is  your  mistress,  Jane? 

Jane.  Miss  Mary  left  orders,  sir,  that  she  would  see  nobody 

\_Exit  L« 

Charles.  Still  in  the  sulks ; what  an  escape  I've  had.  {Goe^ 
to  gel  hat ; sees  Project.)  What,  are  you  there  ? 

Project  (r.).  Oh,  yes;  waiting  for  her. 

Charles.  Her,  who? 

Project.  Your  charming  cousin.  What ! don’t  you  know  ? 

Charles.  Know  what? 

Project.  Why,  I am  the  happy  man.  The  place  you  left 
vacant  I have  filled  up. 

Charles.  You  don’t  say  so? 

Project.  Yes;  my  motto’s  “persevere.”  I came,  I saw,  I 
conquered  — 

Charles.  In  so  short  a time?  It’s  incredible. 

Project.  Not  so  short  as  all  that  comes  to,  for  I certainly 
made  some  preliminary  advances  this  morning. 

Charles.  What ! why,  this  morning  Mary  was  my  affianced 
wife. 

Project.  Yes,  but  only  affianced. 

Charles.  It’s  fortunate  for  you,  sir,  that  I did  not  perceive 
it.  And  to  think  of  little  Mary,  too,  never  to  mention  the  sub- 
ject. Oh,  the  duplicity  of  woman!  However,  it  is  no  business 
of  mine;  she’s  free  and  so  am  I,  and, as  a matter  of  course, 
so  are  you.  I’ll  say  a good  word  for  you  if  you  like. 

Project.  You’re  too  good. 

Charles.  Yes,  you’re  not  bad-looking,  nor  bad-tempered; 
are  bent  on  obtaining  a London  joractice,  can  fully  appreciate 
my  cousin’s  property,  and  will  always  look  after  the  main 
chance. 

Project.  Thank  you.  I won’t  in  that  case  retain  your  ser- 
vices. 

Charles.  Sorry  for  it ; because  I must  represent  the  affair  in 
its  proper  bearings. 

Project.  Sir. 

Charles.  Mary  is  my  cousin ; almost  a sister ; and  I regard 
her  interests  as  my  own. 

Project.  Then  allow  me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I won’t  per- 
mit — 

Charles.  And  allow  me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I shall  dispense 
with  your  permission. 

Project,  Sir,  I’m  not  to  be  bullied. 

Charles.  Nor  I,  sir,  to  be  intimidated. 

Be~enter  Mary,  l. 

Mary.  Why,  what  is  all  this  ? 

Project.  Really,  Miss  Mary,  I am  at  a loss  to  understand.  1 


ALWAYS  r^rrENBED. 


23 


come  here,  authorized  by  circumstauces,  to  seek  an  intervievl 
with  you;  and  this  gentleman  thinks  proper  to  object. 

Mary.  Object!  By  what  right? 

Charles.  The  right  of  old  acquaintance,  Mary.  I came  to 
say  good-by ; and  the  presence  of  a stranger  — 

Project.  Stranger?  No  such  stranger  I flatter  myself. 

Charles,  Sir ! 

Mary,  Will  you  excuse  me,  Mr.  Project,  my  cousin  is  about 
to  leave  us  for  a long  time.  I will  see  you  after  his  departure. 

Project.  Oh,  certainly,  madam;  your  request  is  law.  (^Aside.) 
ril  just  take  a last  look  at  the  settlements.  {Exit  l.,  looking 
indignantly  at  Charles  — Charles  and  Mary  sit  for  some  time 
without  speaking.) 

Charles.  Hem ! I’m  much  obliged  to  you,  cousin,  for  giving 
me  the  preference. 

Mary.  I did  so,  because  I understood  you  were  going. 

Charles  (icith  efort).  Yes,  to-day.  It’s  decided. 

Mary.  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  say  good-by. 

Charles,  My  dear  Mary,  it  was  always  intended  we  should 
marry.  We  understood  that  we  could  not  love,  and  broke  ofl 
the  match.  It  was  the  wisest  thing  to  do. 

Mary.  Oh,  yes,  no  doubt  it’s  for  the  best. 

Charles.  However,  w^e  can  always  be  brother  and  sister;  if 
we  cannot  feel  love,  we  may  friendship,  may  we  not,  dear 
Mary  ? ( Taking  her  hand.) 

Mary.  Oh  yes,  friendship  and  confidence. 

Charles.  That’s  right;  confidence  without  reserve.  And 
before  we  part,  let  us  open  our  hearts  to  each  other.  Now  tiiis 
Mr.  Project,  is  it  possible  that  he  is  paying  his  addresses  to 
you? 

Mary.  Possible!  Why  not?  Am  I then  incapable  of  in- 
spiring an  attachment? 

Charles.  I don’t  say  that. 

Mary.  You  seem  to  be  mightily  taken  with  Mrs.  Mark  well. 

Charles.  Yes;  she’s  your  friend. 

Mary.  Exactly ; my  friend. 

Charles.  I confess  that  I am  favorably  impressed  with  the 
charms  of  her  conversation,  though  she’s  not  so  unafiected  as 
you,  with  all  the  elegance  of  her  manners.  {She  rises  and 
crosses.)  The  taste  of  her  dress,  — by  the  bye,  wdiat  a pi’etty 
dress  that  is  of  yours ! How  becoming ! I never  saw  you  look 
so  well. 

Mary.  Yes ; you  liked  her  conversation  and  her  dress,  and 
then  — 

Charles.  Then,  when  we  went  into  the  garden,  she  laid  hei 
hand  on  my  arm  so.  {Suits  action  hy  taking  her  arm.) 

Mary.  Yes,  and  then  — 

Charles.  Then,  I involuntarily  pressed  her  arm—  so;  then 
{taking  her  hand  between  his)  I took  her  hand,  so. 


24 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


3Iary.  And  then  — 

Charles,  Then  — I looked  in  her  eyes,  sc . 

Mary,  Yes. 

Charles,  And  then  I felt  that  I loved  her. 

3Iary  (withdrawing  her  hand  suddenly').  Then  marry  her. 

Charles,  Marry!  Yes,  of  course ; that’s  my  intention.  At 
the  same  time,  it’s  a very  serious  step. 

Mary,  Not  when  you  love. 

Charles,  No,  that’s  very  true.  At  the  same  time,  if  a fellow 
were  to  marry  every  woman  he’s  in  love  with  — 

Mary,  I don’t  understand. 

Charles,  I mean  that  I should  like  to  know  a little  more  of 
her  temper. 

Mary,  Very  changeable  and  uncertain. 

Charles,  Something  of  her  feelings  and  sentiments. 

Mary,  Those  of  a thorough  coquette  : I ought  to  know,  I’m 
her  friend.  Ah!  poor  Charles,  with  your  simple  tastes  and 
genuine  nature,  I’m  sorry  for  you. 

Charles,  Then  she’s  something  like  your  lawyer,  who  thinks 
of  nothing  but  money,  and  would  sell  the  old  place  here 
to-morrow,  to  purchase  a London  practice. 

Mary,  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Charles,  I’m  sure  of  it.  Ah,  it’s  a terrible  thing  to  sacrifice 
the  hopes  and  destiny  of  an  entire  life  to  a person  one  scarcely 
knows. 

Mary,  It  certainly  is  very  imprudent.  Ah,  if  we  could  have 
loved  each  other,  ever  such  a little  bit. 

Charles,  Ah,  that’s  what  I say. 

Mary,  I who  know  your  thoughts  before  you  speak. 

Charles,  And  I,  who  guess  yours  by  the  sound  of  your 
voice. 

Mary,  You  so  frank  and  generous. 

Charles,  And  you  so  gentle  and  kind. 

Mary,  Do  you  remember,  Charles,  when  we  were  children, 
how  you  jumped  into  the  fish-pond  to  rescue  me? 

Charles,  And  do  you  remember  how  you  nursed  me  when  1 
was  ill,  and  saved  my  life  ? 

Mary,  Oh,  no! 

Charles,  Oh,  yes ! It’s  a terrible  thing  to  part  and  leave 
our  poor  uncle. 

Mary,  That’s  true,  poor  uncle. 

Charles,  Suppose  we  were  to  stay  with  him. 

Mary,  Yes,  yes,  never  leave  him;  stay  in  the  old  house 
where  we  were  born  and  brought  up  together. 

Charles,  But  what  will  you  say  to  the  lawyer? 

Mary,  And  what  will  you  say  to  the  widow? 

Charles,  Dear  Mary,  will  you  say  we  are  better  engaged 
and  that  it  was  always  intended  ? 

Mary,  But  they’ll  say  we’re  mad,  and  won’t  believe  us. 


ALWAYS  INTENDED. 


21 


Charles.  Leave  that  to  me.  {Rings  violently.) 

Mary.  What  are  you  doing. 

Charles.  You’ll  see,  follow  my  example.  {She  rings,  and 
then  both  ring ; bells  without.)  Here  they  come,  now  for  it. 
{Thioios  himself  on  his  knees  at  Mary’s  feet.) 

Enter  Muddle,  Mrs.  Markwell,  c.,  and  Project,  l. 

Muddle.  Good  gracious!  is  the  place  ou  fire? 

Project.  Can’t  say.  {Looking  at  ^Imiy .)  There’s  evidently 
something  burning. 

Charles.  Yes,  dear  cousin,  I love  you,  and  only  you.  You 
shall  still  be  my  little  wife. 

Mary.  And  you  my  little  husband. 

Muddle.  Then  I’m  to  be  made  a fool  of  after  all. 

Mary.  No,  dear  uncle,  thanks  to  Julia,  who  has  opened  my 
eyes,  we  will  never  leave  you. 

Muddle.  So  then,  you,  madam,  have  been  the  cause  of  this 
disturbance. 

Mrs.  M.  I’m  afraid  so,  — I and  this  gentleman  between  us. 

Project.  Then  I’ve  actually  laid  a mine  for  my  own  destruc- 
tion. {Going  to  tear  papers.) 

Mary.  Preserve  the  settlement,  Mr.  Project,  it  may  be  use- 
ful. Julia  has  gained  her  Chancery  suit  and  may  marry  again. 

Project.  Gained  a Chancery  suit? 

Charles.  Yes,  and  sixty  thousand  pounds. 

Project.  What  a charming  woman.  I never  remarked  it 
before.  I will  call  on  on  her  to-morrow. 

Mary.  The  moral  of  our  little  play  now  ended 

Is,  look  for  friends  where  you  were  first  befriended; 

To  you  I turn,  kind  friends,  you’ve  been  of  mine, 

And  beg  for  one  smile  more  for  auld  lang  syne ; 

To  win  that  boon,  howe’er  he  have  otfended. 

Was  by  our  author 

“ Always  Intended.” 


Muddle.  Mary.  Charles.  Mrs.  Markwell,  PRO.rECi 
a.)  {^L. 


CUMTAIN. 


A NEW  IRISH  DRAMA. 


CAPTAIN  JACK; 

OR, 

iiBzsn  oxjtxj 

A PATRIOTIC  IRISH  DRAMA  IN  THREE  ACTS. 

By  BERNARD  F.  MOORE. 

Seven  male  and  four  female  characters.  Costumes,  Irish,  1867,  military  and  pictur- 
esque ; scenery,  an  interior  and  an  exterior.  The  story  of  this  piece  turns  upon  the 
always  popular  motive  of  Ireland’s  struggle  for  political  freedom,  and  is  full  of  patriotic 
sympathy,  besides  being  ingeniously  constructed  and  cleverly  developed.  Its  list  of 
characters  is  very  strong,  both  in  its  heroic  and  humorous  elements.  John  Driscoll,  the 
hero,  provides  plenty  of  excitement,  and  his  faithful  follower,  Barney  Donovan,  an  abun- 
dance of  characteristic  Irish  fun.  Aline,  the  heroine,  and  Captain  Gordon  are  capital 
parts,  and  Squire  Shannon  and  Teddy  Burke,  the  heavy  characters,  are  particularly 
strong.  This  is  a second  “ Shamrock  and  Rose.” 

Price 35  Cents. 


SYNOPSIS. 

Act  I. — The  home  of  the  Driscolls.  The  girl  I left  behind  me.  Aline  and  the 
Captain.  A forged  kiss.  Barney’s  blarney.  The  devil  and  his  shadow.  Captain  Jack. 
A warning.  Old  friends.  The  Squire’s  proposal.  “ I have  sworn  to  make  you  my  wife 
by  fair  means  or  foul.”  A cowardly  blow.  The  Arrest. 

Act  II.  — The  Squire’s  study.  The  cat’s  paw,  A rose  from  a thorn.  Nellie  plans 
a rescue.  The  ex-Caotain.  A plea  for  mercy.  Aline’s  resolve.  “ Not  even  for  his 
sake.”  In  the  Squire’s  power.  Rescuer^  Barney  bobs  up  again.  Teddy  brings  bad 
news.  The  hunted  outlaw.  The  Esca'»e. 

Act  III.  — At  the  Driscolls’.  Krle  and  Barney.  A little  tiff.  Kate  Kelly’s  kiss. 
Aline  and  the  Captain.  A light  ahead . Ht^nters  and  hunted.  An  undutiful  daughter. 
Captured.  A rift  in  the  clouds.  The  Pardon. 


A CYCLONE  FOR  A CENT. 

A FARCE  IN  ONE  ACT. 

By  PAULINE  PHELPS. 

Three  male  and  three  female  characters.  Scene,  a plain  interior;  costumes,  modem 
and  everyday.  Adelaide  Merwin’s  fad  of  “originality”  is  the  cause  of  a sad  domestic 
muddle,  to  which  Colonel  William  Selton,  the  inventor  of  bottled  cyclones  and  other  con- 
densed weather,  ably  contributes.  Very  funny. 


Price. 


15  Cents. 


A NEW  DRAMA 


A PENNSYLVANIA  KID; 

OR, 

A SOLDIER’S  SWEETHEART. 


^ COMEDY  DDYMY  EODR  YCXS. 

By  FREDERIC  W.  TAYLOR. 

Eight  male  and  four  female  characters.  Costumes,  modern  and  military ; scenei-y 
easy  exteriors  and  plain  rooms.  This  is  an  excellent  piece  for  a bright  soubrette,  full  of 
opportunities  both  for  dramatic  action  and  for  specialties.  The  heroic  element  is  very 
strong,  and  its  story,  turning  upon  a striking  deed  of  self-sacrifice,  very  sympathetic. 
The  comedy  element  is  good  and  strong,  the  parts  of  Judge  Sloyer,  Joe  Botts,  Jason 
Olds,  and  Duffy  Whitecar,  as  well  as  Ray,  the  heroine,  giving  good  humorous  oppor- 
tunity. This  piece  is  easily  put  on,  and  acts  briskly  and  well.  It  has  enough  relation  to 
the  war  to  be  available  for  patriotic  purposes,  but  it  does  not  smell  of  powder. 

Price 15  Cents. 


SYNOPSIS. 

Act  f. — The  White  Horse  Inn.  Love  and  patriotism.  Sanders  and  the  Judge. 
A dark  scheme.  A bright  “ Ray.”  “ I never  see  you,  Sanders,  but  I think  of  hogs.’* 
The  Judge  in  a liquor  case.  Ray  and  Jack.  A winner  and  a wooer.  “ Unless  you 
hide  in  the  grave,  you  shall  one  day  be  my  wife.”  Duffy  and  the  gun.  Defiance. 

Act  II.  — The  tavern  again.  An  unwilling  patriot.  Making  a cat’s-paw.  Ray  and 
the  Quaker.  The  mermaid.  Sanders  loss.  ” If  you  cannot  return  my  money  give 
me  its  equivalent.”  The  hog-dealer’s  proposal.  Ray’s  answer.  A startling  sequel. 
At  Bay. 

Act  III.  — Jack’s  dilemma.  My  country  needs  me  and  T must  go.”  Judge 
Sloyer’s  substitute.  A dead  man  by  proxy.  Marching  ordeis.  Rav’s  squad  at  drill. 
Farewells.  The  accusation.  Duffy  a thief.  Ray  to  the  rescue.  He  didn’t  take  the 
money— ’twas  I!”  Wedding  ring  or  prison  fetters.  Jack’s  avowal  and  its  conse- 
quences. The  arrest.  The  web  broken.  “Come,  Jack,  fall  in.”  Rescued. 

Tableau.  — The  field  of  Gettysburg  after  the  battle.  Joe’s  death  and  Jack’s  vin- 
dication. A Free  Mam. 

Act_  IV.  — Ray’s  marriage.  A good  cry.  “ I do  not  love  the  man  I have  married, 
and  all  his  gold  cannot  buy  me  happiness.”  The  Judge’s  private  signal.  A coward  by 
vicar.  Sanders’s  other  wife.  “ Have  you  risen  from  the  dead  in  California  to  raise 
the  devil  in  Pennsylvania?”  Another  plot.  Polly’s  hand  in  iL.  Duffy’s  long  pants. 
Jacks’  return.  Light  on  many  dark  subjects.  The  marriage  certificate.  Free!  San- 
ders’s arrest.  “The  War  is  Ended.” 


FACING  THE  MUSIC. 

A.  COMEDIETTA.  IdST  OISTE  A.CT- 

By  HENRY  OLDHAM  HANLON. 

Three  male  and  one  female  characters.  Costumes,  modern;  scenery,  an  easy  in- 
terior. This  is  a clever  little  play,  sprightly  in  action,  humorous  in  treatment,  and 
original  in  idea.  The  Bohemian  housekeeping  of  Tom  Akenside  and  Walter  Harding 
form  an  amusing  background  for  a very  ingenious  series  of  complications. 

Price 15  Cents. 


FOUR  NEW  “DARKEY”  PLAYS. 


THE  HAN  ABOUT  TOWN. 

A NEGRO  FARCE  IN  ONE  ACT. 

By  E.  BOWERS  and  Q.  H.  COES. 

Four  male  and  one  female  characters.  Several  changes  of  scene  — not  diffi- 
cult,  d'his  is  a very  lively  piece,  full  of  fun  and  incident.  Plays  twenty  minutes. 

Price 15  Cents. 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS. 

A NEGRO  ACT  IN  ONE  SCENE. 

Arranged  by  GEO.  H,  COES. 

Three  male  characters.  Scenery,  costumes,  and  properties  very  easy.  This 
is  an  act  for  two  low  comedians  and  a genteel  darkey  Can  be  worked  up  to  be 
very  funny.  Plays  only  twelve  minutes. 

Price 15  Cents. 


The  Three  O’Clock  Train. 

A NEGRO  ACT  IN  ONE  SCENE. 

Arranged  by  GEO.  H.  COES. 

Three  male  characters  ; one  does  not  speak.  Scenery,  costumes,  and  proper- 
ties very  simple.  This  sketch  depends  largely  upon  good  “ business,’’  and  in  the 
hands  of  a good  negro  comedian  wall  convulse  the  audience.  Plays  fifteen 
minutes. 

Price 15  Cents. 


The  Intelligence  Office. 

A NEGRO  FARCE  IN  ONE  ACT. 

Arranged  by  GEO.  H.  COES, 

Two  male  characters  (negro),  and  one  female  (Irish),  played  usually  by  a man. 
Scenery  and  costumes  easy.  This  is  a very  funny  and  lively  piece  for  a good 
negro  and  Irish  comedian.  Great  opportunity  for  fine  “ business.’’  Plays  twenty 
minutes  or  more. 


Pric« 


16  Cents. 


A NBv  ,<ISH  DRAHA. 

|THE  IRI-sir AGENT. 

I A PLAY  OF  IRISH  LIFE  IN  FOUR  ACTS. 

I By  BERNARD  F.  MOORE, 

Author  of  “captain  Jack,”  etc. 

^ Seven  male  and  three  female  clinractera.  Scenery,  not  difficult;  may  be 
[made  very  picturesque  if  couveui*"iit  and  desired  ; C'  stumes  modern. 

\ This  is  a typical  Irish  drama,  interesiing  in  story,  dramaiic  in  inovemeiit, 
find  full  of  characteristic  wit,  humor  and  paUios.  It  presents  familiar  tyi'CS  of 
Ich  iracter,  hut  in  new  lights  and  relations.  Tighe  jVlurphy,  a near  relative  of 
IBoucicau.t’s  Con,  in  the  “ Shaughraun,”  is  a eajiital  part,  and  sure  lo  be  a 
Tavorite.  Kate  Hennessy  and  Mary  U’Xeil  are  adml  ab.e  ladies’  parts,  and 
Shaun  Brady,  a strong  lieavy  character.  This  is  a genuine  Irish  play,  and  not 
an  JEuglish  piece  written  in  Irish  dialect. 

Price  . , . . 85  cents. 

SYNOPSIS, 

Act  I. — Con  O’Neil’s  home.  Norah’s  dream.  Tighe  .Murphy’s  ghost.  The 
Volf  in  the  fold.  An  Irish  Shylock.  ' An  interrupted  dance.  'The  goo<l  priest, 
voiTs  return.  An  English  lover.  Shaun  Brady’s  crime.  The  kite  and  the  dove. 
liauiTs  revenge.  The  stolen’  pocket-book.  The  eviction.  “Hold!  Do  not 
dsecratc  the  house  of  the  dead  ! ” 

Act  II.— Norah’s  grave.  C >u's  pt'ornise.  The  devil’s  valet.  A vile  plot. 
Tarby,  the  catspaw.  Kate  and  the  spirits.  A ghostly  kiss.  Jokes  ami  jca  ousy. 
Jaruey  and  Father  Tom.  The  letter.  The  abduction  of  Mary,  coii  O’Neil’s 
aih.  “ Promise  or  no  promise,  i’ll  have  the  life  of  Shaun  Brady.” 

Act  III.  — The  Devil’s  glen.  Dirby  Riordan  and  IMrs.  Grady.  “A  band 
ike  a foot.”  Giving  a “ lady  ” a seat.  A kiss  ami  a blow.  The  kick  of  a mule. 
hauiTs  prisoner.  The  secret  cave.  A coward’s  proposal.  “Death  before 
larriageAvith  such  a man  as  Sfniuu  Brady.”  Kate’s  protector.  Mrs.  Grady’s 
st  again.  Xhe  Inst  chance.  The  murder.  Hurled  from  the  cliff.  The  rescue, 
'ighe’s  leap  for  life. 

Acr  IV.;— Con’s  home.  Darby’s  propo.sal.  Nancy  Grady  to  the  rescue. 
L three-cornered  courtship.  Nancy  Grady  turns  out  to  be  “no  lady.”  '1  ighe’s 
ittle  disguise  and  its  consequences  Mai  y’s  engagement.  Frank’s  return.  The 
(Itle  deeds.  Shaun  Brady  amCtlie  rent  once  more.  A ’’ You  are  now 

tanding  on  niy  land,  aiul  U’hen  you  leave  it  Avill  be  to  go  to  a prison.”  Darby’s 
:>iifession.  'The'dead  alive.  • The  silver  lining. 


A NEW  FARCE. 


:,A  STRAW  MAN. 

‘ .A  FARCE  IN  ONE  ACT. 

1 By  EDWARD  ABORN. 

Three  male  and  two  female  characters.  Scene,  a garden  ; costumes,  modern. 
Hiis  is  a side-splitting  little  piece,  full  of  action  and  “ go.”  A straw  man  made 
by  some  mischievous  boys,  out  of  the  clothes  of  one  of  the  char;n*ters,  plavs  the 
leading  part.  No  troubie  wiG  be  found  in  finding  an  actor  for  this  part,  nor  for 
those  of  Driinis  (Iri.sli)  and  Gaston  (Trench)  — both  excellent. 

, Price  ....  15  cents.  ■ 


FOR  FEMALE  »K^RACTERS, 


PSYCHE,  M.D. 

A COMKDY  IN  one:  ACT. 

By  CHARLES  BARNARD. 

Nine  female  characters.  Scene,  an  interior  ; costumes  modern.  This  is 
clever  satire  of  certain  elociitio.iary  “ fads,”  is  full  of  fun  and  acts  briskly  and  Avel 
U is  admirably  jidapted  lor  “exhibition”  purposes  in  that  its  ni..e  charac  ei 
are  almost  equal  in  length  and  opportunity  — or  as  nearly  so  as  is  possible  in 
well-balanced  story.  L)r.  Psyche’s  “Heart  Searcher,”  and  “Sentiment 
Detector,”  while  not  known  to  the  Patent  Office,  are  wonderful  inventions,  ar 
their  operations  full  of  interest  and  humor.  An  excellent  successor  to  “Tli 
Chroiiothanatoletron.” 

Price 15  cents. 


A NEW  FARCE. 

DEAD  RECKONING. 

A FARCE  IN  ONE  ACT. 

By  HENRY  DINQLEY  COOLlDCiE. 

Two  male  and  one  female  characters.  Scene,  an  interior;  costumes,  mod»M 
This  is  a very  original  ami  ingenious  little  play,  written  in  a vein  of  qul 
hurnorthat  suggests  the  peculiar  style  of  W.  S.  Gilbert.  The  affairs  of  Chaii< 
ton  Bryce,  who  is  legally  a dead  man,  and  Constance,  his  legal  widow  by  a im 
marriage  which  turned  out  a real  one,  are  most  amusingly  complicated  and  th 
unravelled  in  some  very  clever  dialogue.  The  fun  of  this  piece  is  quiet  a 
refined,  and  it  is  strongly  recommended  for  parlor  performance. 

Price  . • • « • 15  cents. 


A NEW  NEGRO  SKETCH. 

A Perplexing  Predicament. 

A.  NEGRO  ACT  IN  ONE  SCENE. 

By  QEO.  H.  COES. 

Three  male  characters.  Scene,  a phain  chamber  ; costumes,  eccentiic.  T1 
act,  which  is  founded  upoii  a popular  farce,  was  a stock  favorite  with  all  “c. 
timers,”  and  has  more  laugh  to  the  square  inch  than  any 'Sketch  priuled.  1 
“slaf’und  bladder”  business,  l>ut  genuine  character  and  negro  liuuior. 

Pri<e l.^  cents. 


